Departures
by gorengal
Summary: Logan ponders partners and promises as Wheeler takes temporary duty with a task force.


**Disclaimer: Dick Wolf owns the characters, I do not.**

**Author's Notes: A very belated birthday gift to my friend Penn O'Hara. I wanted to give her a little Logan angst so she could render aid and comfort. Hope you enjoy, Penn.**

**References to Renewal. The two Lennie Briscoe quotes are from episodes of the Mothership.**

* * *

Detective Mike Logan met his partner, Megan Wheeler, rolling her black nylon suitcase down the hallway outside the Major Case bullpen. "So, you're on the run, too?"

"Plane leaves in an hour." She stepped into the elevator.

"Wheeler? You're coming back…right?" Logan asked. His brown eyes, usually warm and dancing, were hooded and the bags under his eyes prominent.

"Logan." Wheeler smiled, a mother reassuring her anxious child on the first day of school. "I'll see you soon." And the elevator doors closed.

Logan headed back to the bullpen. _I practically asked her to pinky swear. What the hell is wrong with me?_ He shook off his thoughts as he entered the captain's office.

"Where's Julian? He's not in holding," Logan asked Ross.

"We had to release him, the DA's call. There's no evidence…of anything."

"He took a swing at me!" Logan saw the 'you're kidding me, right?' look on his captain's face and tried again. "All right, what about the ME's report?"

"There's no evidence of murder, and your voyeur confirmed she was alone on the roof."

"She gave up her whole life to get away from that prick! Then he tracked her down and raped her!"

"And then he left." Ross was sympathetic but firm.

Mike started for the door and turned back. "She…she must have thought she could never get away…ever. That's why she jumped."

* * *

Stumbling home to his apartment after midnight, Logan cursed as his drunken hand tried to fit his key into the lock. Finally successful, he tossed the key ring onto the small side table, knocking over the mug he placed there 16 hours before. The cold dregs of his morning coffee splattered the beige carpet. He hurled the mug across the room, strangely comforted as it hit the wall and shattered. 

After kicking off his loafers, Logan lay heavily on the sturdy sofa, one arm flung over his eyes and a foot resting on the floor to keep the room from spinning. Holly's death might technically be suicide, but that prick Julian was morally guilty. He stalked his ex-wife and raped her, driving her to take a header off the building. What fucking good was the DA if there was no way to hold the prick legally responsible?

_Ah, maybe it was time to get that Winnebago. _

Logan heard Briscoe's voice in his head. "And go where, Mike?"

"Upstate…New Hampshire."

"Right, I spent a year there one weekend."

Logan snorted at this memory, at Lennie. _I'm sorry I failed you, partner. Sorry I wasn't in touch very often after going to Staten Island._ Logan's mind drifted to his other partners at the 2-7, Max Greevey and Phil Cerreta. Usually he pushed away the memory of speaking to Max's wife on the phone, hearing her screams as Max was killed outside their home. But tonight the memory would not leave him, so Logan rolled off the tan sofa and headed down the short hall. Passing the side table he felt cold coffee soak through his socks, and he hopped to the bathroom pulling them off.

Flipping the light switch, Logan cringed as the fluorescent bulbs blinked to life, harshly illuminating the tiny but neat space. He relieved himself, then washed his face and brushed away the taste of liquor, avoiding his reflection. In his bedroom he stripped to his boxers in the dark and lay face down on his king-sized bed. _Fucking Max and Lennie, dying. Phil taking a drug dealer's bullet and a desk job. Wheeler on a plane, damn her._ His skin prickled with goosebumps. _Like a damn meat locker in here._

Logan rolled to his back, pulling the covers aside so he could slip under them. Cocooning under the blanket, he thought of Wheeler working with the European Task Force. _Maybe she'll like London so much she won't come back. Or Paris, or wherever the hell she's going._ He liked Wheeler, with her Howdy Doody freckles and red pixie hair. She was a good partner, wanted to learn and she let him take the lead. And she had his back, even standing up for him with their captain.

She also was the annoying little sister he never had, telling him about the newfangled gadgets and technology the kids were using these days. When she teased him about being an old fart her eyes sparkled with mischief…they friggin' _sparkled_.

Another Briscoe memory: "Hey Lennie, you been studying explosives in your spare time?"

"I worked a similar case around the time you were born, Mike…guy tried to kill his wife and blew up his cat."

Another laughing snort. _I used to be hip -- ok, I used to be young, at least._ _What the hell happened?_ He groaned as more alcohol left his system, replaced by a dull pounding behind his eyes. Logan yawned loudly in the empty room. _Time to go to sleep, Mikey._

He rolled over, set the alarm, and burrowed back in his cocoon. One last thought before sleep claimed him….

_You're coming back, Wheeler…you promised._


End file.
